K. Morris's Blog, page 35

Gwen the Hen and a Fox Called Ken

There once was a hen named Gwen

Who dated a fine fox called Ken.

They met for a meal

And I really do feel

That we won’t be seeing Gwen again …

Gwen and the Gren

There was a young lady known as Gwen

Who worked in a pub called the Gren.

A drinker named Dan

Was a rude man,

So Gwen kicked him out of the Gren!

Conversation with a Stranger

She was born in the year

I came here

To live and work.

She will thrive when time’s scythe

Has ended me.

 

I feel no jerk

Of sudden fear

Of the Reaper as he draws near.

 

I have felt lust

And feared dust.

But today I simply say my goodbye

And accept that I

Will, one day die.

 

The train moves on.

She is gone.

And I will do my work today.

Musings on a Bleak December Day

On a cold December day

I stop

And suddenly become

Aware of the ticking clock.

 

 

The sun

Hides it’s face.

It will rain again today.

 

 

I will embrace

Old Father Time in rhyme.

 

 

I grow older

And sense his great hand

Waiting to land

On my bowing shoulders.

 

 

I must try

Not to waste time.

For the clock

Will, one day, … stop

 

A Young Lady of this Great Nation

When a young lady of this great nation

Invited me to a night of extreme dissipation,

I said to her, “Coral!

That is so very immoral!”.

She said, “yes! Its what made this nation!”.

Poet Kevin Morris Interviewed by Ariadne Sawyer of the World Poetry Reading Series for December 12th 2024

I was delighted to be interviewed by Ariadne Sawyer of the World Poetry Reading Series for her show on December 12th. During the podcast, I read a number of my poems and talk about my poetry and the creative process. For the podcast please visit, https://www.mixcloud.com/VictorSchwartzman/world-poetry-cafe-with-kevin-morris-dec-12-2024/. My segment begins approximately 15 minutes into the show.

Our Own Hell

I heard school children at play

On a late December day.

Soon I will turn 57.

Will I be nearer to heaven?

Or to hell?

 

 

I’ve  heard mythologists tell

How gods play

With women and men,

And how we have no chance against them.

 

 

On this winter’s day

In late December, I know that our fate

Lies in man’s hands.

 

 

When the jackboots stamp in the concentration camps

Men create living hell

And no gods weep.

 

Sometimes I Wish the Rain

Sometimes I wish the rain

Would not cease.

It quiets my heated brain.

But the rain

Will cease. And I yearn for the peace

Of the steady drip, drip, drip of rain

To return again

And cool my heated brain.

Gus and the Bus

When a daring young man known as Gus

Suggested we all make love on the bus!

And Miss Leven said, “Kevin!

Do take me to heaven!”.

I wondered, is it that kind of bus?

The Book Destroyer

There was a young man named Roy

Who said, “all these books I’ll destroy!”.

A bookish girl called Grace

Pushed over a heavy bookcase

Which flattened that young man named Roy!